TENDER TENDER

TENDER TENDER

While wandering around the Sculptur-Projecte 2017 in Muenster, Germany i stubble on the most amazing concrete poetry, called Tender Tender by Michael Dean.

love locks

It might be inspired by the many love-locks you find around in the city, but no explanation was given, which makes it even better.  Looking at it from one site or the other site, you see what you want to see, it plays with seeing and reading.

see through

What do you see while you are reading a poem, or a story, or just one line.
The poem is juxtaposed around all over and in the sculpture. At times shredded and than it is crumbled and even painted or hidden behind a wall on the top floor.

hidden words

You can see it from above like organised chaos, but perhaps thats what love is, organised chaos.
Only to shred that idea when you see a printed danger tape with frecksake fucksake. Yet while on your knees you see love.

you can see that no need to say more

butte why than, yes why than, all the fists hmmmmm ok that one goes with the crossed fingers so why.
well one thing shows through it all the meaning of concrete, right there, everywhere, but don’t follow me just see it yourself and go on your knees to see every detail and than go up into the air to see it from that different angle.

maybe tomorrow yes perhaps tomorrow

 

OOOOOh and when you spy through that screen don’t be surprised to see love you should not see.

can you see it

however i just and i mean just LOVE it it made my day and even month finally creative writing a very creative love song butte it is not a love song

poetry printed and printed again and again everywhere

lots of love

and more

more

PRICE OF ART

I woke up with you in mind hearing your shouts, seeing your act art you said art

as i wait for the first bird song you wait for the first embarrassment

you have a name, you have a fame, you teach to earn

scream to act art you say

the thousand fine lines a question the embarrassment

RAIN DROPS IN THE AIR

Looking further into some facts

the aim for the shame

searching for what is lost

inside a scream of silence a scream of taal

en nog eens taal

Vergeefse woorden zoeken naar menselijke mening, menselijke redenering

ik herinner, terwijl de vogel mij niet ziet

een vermenging van woordeloze Beelden

Verbeelding van menselijk gezag

het gezegde van een FLITZZZZ

onderweg van het weg zijn van de

WALKING IN THE RAIN

roaring trucks, zooming first cars

into the silence faling raindrops, rolling of leaFs

circles

somebody else has been here, footprint from behind

shout for what is lost, what will be lost

only without the anger, leaving that embarrassment

a shout of silenced grieving, act silent walking, over a noisy track

should i act this sadden dance to get attention for loosing

perhaps it is the falling of failing

FINGERS

dat ik bewandel na de nacht

een druppel hier            een druppel daar

een gloeiende plaat, in ieder hoek

taal zeg je een vergeten woord van het niet willen weten

stilletjes nat worden voor het zien van dat kunstzinnige moment

kunst waar vind je dat, aan een hangende tak zonder bladeren

het niet weten voelt veilig aan

nee, laat maar     ik wil het voelen

achter de pijn van verliezen ligt de glorie van schoonheid

DIE komt zonder prijs

dansend over een bank, terwijl de bankrekening loopt leeg

genietend van een teer moment, regen valt niet leeg

SEED

treecreeper crawls away vertical movement

now

the rain truly falls

100 1000000

one hundred million

for a piece of skull

money of dead reminder of bulbs 1640

art for few collecting emptiness, no tax on art

10,000 times 10,000

art against reason a silent reminder of what i don’t want

is het een kunst om iets te maken waarvan iedereen zegt wat knap

of

CAMPER IN THE RAIN

is het een kunst om iets te maken wat jezelf niet echt snapt

een vergeten liedje van herman van veen met blijvende gedachte goed

walking back through the rain leaving art well behind

i sell what i create

artinisme off

dripping drops make no difference

i see your anger of lost words

leaf your act of desperation

its all a vague nothing on lendless paper

REGEN WEG

ik ga verder met mijn zin

zinloos dwalen tussen woorden van niets

lege druppels in jouw haar

warme bries in mijn gedachte

verder heeft het geen

ZIN

 

DABE ART

bOw

bOw

do you see that word a silent word
hanging from every stick, from every line, in every circle
it says noting that word of stilte
would it be something you know, something you said, something you saw, while you question your seeing

lijn en line

untrusting minds wander along the glister trail
shimmer movement, no wind, no rain over sunbeams entrance
one site, other site, underneath a drop rainbow arrange itself for your eyes

toevallig

any footstep will make it disappear
unhurry for that tiny moment of seeing, listen to no words
don’t let me show you, don’t let me
be surprised with wandering words, under silent feet, conformation of nothing
the river flows, a drop bows, unpredictable show

goede morgen

als de betekenis van het gesproken woord weg is op het moment het wordt gehoord, laat staan als het wordt herinnerd
ik kan het niet zeggen als jij het hoort

webber

 

ZOEK LOOK

ZOEK LOOK

captured light

believe in Beauty, flashing senses
it takes courage to see sensuality
zoek a look
sensuous sentence, offers a pattern
simplifying simulation every stone in a Bubble
zoek a look

stil 

drop without an ocean, no flow of quadrant
a distant tree, whispering names on your way
zoek a look
across silent breaks
its in your hands, under your feet flowing in your ears
zoek a look

what goes around comes around

there over there
whiteout a whisper following maze
zoek a look
around description
saying nothingness
zoek a look

it hurts

Dottle over a road, of mystery meaningless tread
tired march of stems
zoek a look
wisps makes you go
used to empty rooms, no matter what you do
zoek a look

saampjes

locked away rocks
freak window seal leaking dreams
zoek a look
drop by drop, lash-hold of the scream bird
leave window by horsehairs
zoek a look
purple shoes as wings

wings in your eyes

A certain dream while walking along in different shoes around different times into different landscapes. Holding my camera in my hand.

dabe-art.org

STORY WHEEL

STORY WHEEL

The concept of a garden as a piece of art will be discussed for many years to come. The Japanese see gardens as art, no discussions there any more.

Zen-Scape inspired by Japanese gravel gardens

We from Dabe-Art were talking about it; you can’t answer this question without talking about the criteria for art. Creativity would be a number one, unusual would be an other, using material in a different way and last but not least a thinking behind it (intellectual). For many people art ends by making something beautiful (aesthetic) for us at Dabe-Art it is more than creating something pretty.
When Derek Jarman made his garden in the last years of his life his aim was not beauty, he used different materials, not just plants, he had an idea  which developed while making the garden. The garden he created became art and people use it as an example for a garden as art.

Vision 2004

Like any art a garden start with a base, the soil is for the gardener what an empty canvas is for a painter, or a block of clay for a sculptor. Before we create our art we work on the base,  the empty area. On the moment i work on the soil and like other artists while working on the empty the filling happens in the head.
A criteria for art we forgot is passion, if you don’t have the passion you will loose it already while making the empty base. The passion will filter through and makes it all worth doing.
You can understand why the Japanese gardeners made the weeding into something special, something creative, while weeding they create certain patterns otherwise their gravel would be hidden under a shower of greenery. The gravel gardens they made have inspired many gardeners for centuries, including myself.

wheel at the walled garden 1997

While reading Earthly Joy written by Philippa Gregory, about a famous English gardener and wanderer John Tradescant, it came to my mind to write a life story as a garden.
An autobiography written through landscapes into a garden landscape.
The soil from the garden gets shaped in an old design “The Wheel” a large circle divided in 8 triangels leading to an inner circle, like a wagon wheel. You will find the design in many old cultures around the globe. Each triangel of the Story Wheel will tell a story of a place where i lived during my life, reflecting how that place shaped experiences.

the Story Wheel where old and new will meet

The stories start at, yep the East, as there the day start as well as the night, sunrise, moonrise. Each triangle will hold a tree connecting the triangle to the place it describes. When all the flesh melts from the bones them trees will grow on and on changing the face of the land, hiding the written stories.

While weeding away, to have my blank canvas, my mind wanders to all them places and the piece, triangle by triangle starts to live and get filled.

So a new piece of Land Art began, which will grow on for many years to come just like many of my other Land Art.

You can follow here how it slowly but certainly take shape and how the creative story evolves.

 

MEEUWEN IN DE TUIN

SCHIMMEN SPELL

coincidence of no focussing camera
macro point of view
into infinity

eyes

TOEVALLIG
FORTUITOUS

unexpected random appearance
don’t like
record of time
waving by on constant
grommmrrrrr
looking for silence sight
finding literature gardens
standing in black past

black sight

ONVOORZIEN
ACCIDENTAL

observant mind draws an other
picture
alert neglect
movement flows in air
float on water
leaving no remark

schimmen spel

ONWILLEKEURIG
UNWITTINGLY

it goes shining over dreams
inspirational Blues
seeding representation under
Windlight sims
mention in passing fine lines
divide us

what you see what i see

LUKRAAK
HAPHAZARDLY

a camera alone will never do it
eyes will not see it
together they show a screen

mP

Inspired by
http://www.moewenglanz.de

TRAIL

TRAIL

TRAIL

How she sank and sank like a reverse volcano, a shrinking mountain going down, flowing over water disappearing word, movement alters a certain swing, shift direction, she twist around her letters forming drifting sand

she coils, she wind, she never turn again
that mountainary plunge

she goes deep deep deep down her track
that mountainary path

she moves over over over on the other site
that mountainary push

she flows deeper deeper deeper down inside
that mountainary probe

she streams firmly firmly firmly folding over
that mountainary process

she drifts tough tough tough tumbling away
that mountainary poke

she beached her central part rolling over finalising edge where will she go, where will she grow, sinking sand, a trail of a short tale lowering down a turning page, lowering down a flowing line leaving just a guess of an ending below stirred surface, she face a certain way, flowing sand, flowing image

a poem connected to a land art project Written Water made with paper and sand in the canal

PLUNGE